Just nine more swats, plus extras

Sometimes pragmatism outweighs rigour. You never intended this spanking to be so severe and you're concerned that if you start again, there may be more miscounts and eventually you'll have to stop anyway. Besides, your enjoyment at thrashing these two lasses into sobbing wrecks has left you in rather urgent need of relief and you're eager to claim your reward, so you interrupt Lorelei's stream of **** self-recrimination.

"If you want to call that six, then by all means do so. I hope you know how fortunate you are that your mistake was not in your favour. You'll each get an extra stroke for not being in unison and we'll continue from seven."

"Oh, thank-you, Professor! I promise to do better at counting the strokes from now on. Please may…"

"…we have the next," the freshers finish in perfect harmony.

* THWACK *

"Ooo-oooh! Seven, thank-you, Professor. Please may we have the next?"

The second swat to the back of her thighs produces a momentary buckle of the knees and a prolonged wail. Her long legs are trembling with the stress of remaining in position and the wide swollen stripes are colouring from red to purple and black.

* CRACK *

"Nnuuugh. Eight, thank-you, Professor. Please may we have the next?"

Her voice is quavering, but matching Johanna's cadence seems to give her the strength to continue counting.

* CRACK *

"Nya-hah! Nine, thank-you, Professor. Please may we have the next?"

Lorelei's helpless sobs are louder than the cries of pain which your students have been stifling as best they can, out of consideration for others who might be trying to work nearby. A word of warning and both girls' blubbing immediately decreases in volume, although their shoulders continue to heave piteously.

* THWACK *

"Ya-a-ah. Ten, thank-you, Professor. Please may we have the next?"

The count is little more than a whisper from the girl being spanked and her companion's tears show no signs of abating either. You take a moment to inspect the Asian student's welts, running your hand over her bum and thighs, pinching the ridges to assess their stiffness, resulting in even more energetic bawling. You're happy that, although terribly painful, your application of the wand is in no danger of doing lasting injury and so, with a quick slap on the rump, you return to Lorelei.

* CRACK *

For a moment, no sound comes from the redhead. Even her weeping falls silent and when you step back to look at her face, you see her mouth stretched open in a silent scream. You are not the only one concerned: even as you watch, Johanna's head turns towards her friend, just as she draws in a shuddering breath to give voice.

"Huuuh…eleven, thank-you, Professor. Please may we have the next?"

The Asian fresher snaps back to her correct position as she duets the required words, but you feel the need to say something before you continue.

"Eyes front, Johanna. You'll get two extra after I finish the backs of Lorelei's legs."

"Yes, Professor. Sorry, Professor; it won't ever happen again."

You detect no hint of insincerity in her words of contrition and so continue with your task.

* CRACK *

"Uh-huh-huh-huh…twelve, thank-you, Professor. Please may we have the next?"

The pale, slender thighs are taking an impressive number of strokes to completely cover in raised, throbbing weals.

* THWACK *

"Ah-aargh! Thirteen, thank-you, Professor. Please may we have the next?"

Having reached the end of your journey, you are left with something of a quandary. You could simply apply the remainder of the blows on top of previous swats, perhaps on particularly sensitive areas like the sit spot and the region you spanked earlier with the brush. However, you feel there may be an even more devastating way to make sure the chastisement stays in the memory for a long time to come, so you order your students to stand up, take off their skirts and lie on their backs on the edge of the table, with their legs bent back over their heads and wide apart, leaving their nether regions as exposed as it is possible to get.

There's much wailing and weeping as the two young women stiffly rise and try, with shaking hands, to remove their skirts and fold them neatly. Twice, Lorelei has to stop to let fits of uncontrollable sobbing run through her body, but eventually the job is done and they face the more difficult task of mounting the table.

When the teenagers turn to face you, the sight of their tear-stained faces, hair damp with perspiration clinging to their glowing cheeks, red-rimmed eyes still streaming, fills you with pride at being able to provide such effective chastisement, along with an even stronger desire to have one of them pleasure you soon.

The taller of the two lets out a keening groan as she sits her battered bottom upon the unyielding table, but her companion is too short to do this so easily, **** to half-jump and half-lift herself with her hands. When she lands, she freezes for a moment, her mouth open in a silent O of shock as her weight bears down through her aching sit spot. When she finally manages to regain control of her muscles, both girls lean back together with a shuddering gasp, to reveal their pretty pudenda to your concupiscent gaze. You realize that, consciously or not, they have been acting in unison, each waiting for the other to be ready to perform the next stage of your instructions before continuing themselves.

"Including extras, you each have three more coming," you warn your charges.

"Please may we have the next?" Despite the continuing sobs, both their voices are clear.

With your charges bent and displayed so openly, you can plainly see the smooth, unblemished skin of their inner thighs, all the more susceptible to punishment because their location means that they are seldom in receipt of it.

"I want you to watch this, Lorelei. If you close your eyes or look away, I'll repeat the stroke."

Looking down between her bent legs, she can see through her tears as you rap the wand sharply down, eliciting a howl of anguish and a tensing of the muscles in her legs that tells you is close to her breaking point.

"Fourteen, thank-you, Professor. Please may we have the next?"

You walk over to give yourself a good angle on the other side, whilst at the same time surveying the raised weal which is now crossing the straining muscles of her inner thigh diagonally, from the back near her crotch to the front by her knee. You're sure that she will be reminded of her transgressions with every step she takes for a few days at least.

* CRACK *

"Nooo-hoooo…Fifteen, thank-you, Professor. Please may we have the next?"

As she managed to keep her eyes fixed on you, despite the rest of her face screwing up with the effort, you decide to ignore the fact that her agonized wail sounded like she was protesting and assume it was just an acoustic anomaly. Choosing where to place your last shot, you notice the narrow strip of untouched flesh between her glowing buttocks. Even the inner slopes of her nether cheeks have been bruised by the compression of her glutes, if they didn't experience direct contact with the hard rod in your hand itself, but the very centre of her cleft is pristine around her bum hole. You are careful to give no indication of your target as you give a short but powerful swing, snapping the wand down with a practised flick of your wrist.

Amazingly, she still keeps her eyes open, but her legs jerk together, calves pressed to her thighs and feet squeezed together over the area causing her such torment. She whines pitifully for several seconds through gritted teeth, her hands pressed flat to the table as though forcing her palms through the wooden surface would somehow ease her suffering.

"Lorelei…Lorelei! Get back in position, this minute!"

The slender redhead finally responds and gets herself back in order, her profuse apologies unintelligible through the heaving sobs wracking her body. The cleft between her buttocks is no longer soft and pale, but red and raw, the rim of her anus swollen and misshapen. You wonder idly how excruciating it will be when someone fucks her in it.

"I will repeat that stroke and you will get twenty more…"

All semblance of self control leaves the contrite teenager at your words, wailing and bawling with horror, but as you continue to speak, she calms quickly, despair turning to relief.

"…with your brush at the end of the tutorial."

* CRACK *

You don't hesitate for a second before applying the repeat and the agony once again threatens to overwhelm her, but somehow she manages to stay in place and count the stroke without mistakes.

"Sixteen, thank-you, Professor. Please may we have the next?"

You walk over to Johanna, who has benefited from the lengthy break she has received and seems much more composed than she was a few moments ago. It's time to change that.

* THWACK *

"Ah! Sixteen, thank-you, Professor. Please may we have the next?"

The Asian fresher twitches as you paint a line of fire across her right inner thigh and you're impressed that both she and her tute-partner have counted correctly.

* THWACK *

"Aaiii! Seventeen, thank-you, Professor. Please may we have the next?"

Johanna is looking straight at you, following the instruction you gave her friend, without prompting. It's exactly this sort of gumption that makes her such an admirable student. Unfortunately, when you prepare for the final blow, you see that her beautiful behind (and it is beautiful, adorned by an inflamed ladder of puffy bruises) doesn't leave quite enough room for the wand to strike cleanly between her cheeks.

"Spread your bottom open for me, please, Johanna."

The dutiful girl obeys, gingerly gripping her aching buttocks and pulling them firmly apart with a groan to reveal the protected cleft between, neat natural-coloured nails short enough not to dig into her flesh as she does so. She obviously knows what's coming and eyes the wand anxiously while you prepare for the swat.

* CRACK *

"Huh-ugh. Eighteen, thank-you, Professor. Thank-you for punishing us."

Both girls begin to praise you lavishly for your diligence and generosity, their words no longer in tune, but in accord all the same. Johanna has started to weep copiously once again, her knuckles white with the effort of keeping her cheeks apart to expose the angry weal swelling along her perineum and winking anus. You marvel at the intense suffering a single shaft of wood has caused to two distraught young women. Truly, it is a magic wand.

You help the girls to sit up, the renewed pressure upon their throbbing posteriors causing further blubbering. You desperately want to have one of these lovely ladies pleasure you, but you also need to deal with Lorelei's self control problem and the tutorial is already more than half over.

"Lorelei, do you think you could climax right now?"

"No, Professor! Huh-I h-hurt much t-too much."

"And what about in a few hours, do you think you'll still be in too much pain?"

"I don't know. Uh, if I don't move—ah—too much, maybe I c-could manage, but it wou-ooo-ld be really, nnngh, tough. Oh, oh, when I'm bruised l-like this, the—mmm—slightest m-movement, her-er-er, sends sh-shafts of—aah-ah—agony th-through me for days."

You're very pleased to hear that, but you're not willing to put the matter to rest just yet.

"But what if the pain were in your genitals directly. Could you ignore it then?"

"No," she whimpers, seeming quite distressed at the thought, "oh, just becoming aroused, nuh-huh, would hurt."

"Ah. Then maybe that's a solution. It's worth a try, anyway. Now we just need to decide how to **** your genitals. We could whip them or pinch them or…I know: can either of you girls think where we can get some stinging nettles?"

"I do, Professor," answers Johanna, courageously fighting to control her tears. "There's a big patch of them in Green Lane; I walk past it on my way to football practice."

You smile. Now you just need to decide which student to send to pick the nettles and which to have remain in order to tip you with her gorgeous body.